


Stretch Goals

by winterkill



Series: Cop!Brienne AU [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Established Relationship, F/M, Pegging, Smut, but it's so soft, but the title is very tongue in cheek, i nearly named this fic "bootylicious", no zootopia references this time either, some of you may be upset i didn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25583245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/pseuds/winterkill
Summary: “Jaime asked me to fuck him.”Both Sansa and Margaery give her blank, unblinking stares that last for several seconds.Then, Margaery leans back in the chair and says, equally low, “Like...with a strap-on?”Brienne nods solemnly.“There’s a word for that,” Sansa adds, “It’s called pegging.”
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Cop!Brienne AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715098
Comments: 46
Kudos: 166





	Stretch Goals

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is a thing that I wrote. 😳😳😳
> 
> This fic is number five in a series. I think this installment probably references the prior parts the most. Reading them first isn't strictly necessary, but if you're here for the smut, you might as well read the four smutty prequels. 
> 
> For those who haven't read: Brienne's a cop. She met Jaime while working a case; they banged in a safehouse. Jaime felt inspired to go to the police academy. Now they live together.
> 
> This is soft as hell and _very_ lighthearted. I hope it's an enjoyable read!

The lock screen on Jaime’s phone is a picture of Brienne and him. The angle is a little wonky because Sansa had been leaning on Margaery and giggling when she snapped it. They visited Tarth for a long weekend last month and went out on the boat owned by Brienne’s father.

In the photo, Brienne’s giving Jaime a piggyback ride. It looks ridiculous since they’re the same height, but Jaime had jokingly asked, and Brienne _always_ rose to a challenge. He’s wearing swim trunks and the King’s Landing PD sweatshirt he never returned to her. Brienne’s two-piece swimsuit is an athletic cut with no frills, but it shows off her toned torso and legs.

….Maybe Jaime should’ve picked another photo for his lock screen.

It’s a great picture, not because looking at it gives Jaime a hard-on, but because Brienne is laughing, carefree, and Jaime’s cheek is pressed close to hers. She’ll be his wife, _alarmingly_ soon. If he could go back in time, Jaime would reassure his past self that good shit is in the pipeline for him.

Jaime nurses his third (or fourth?) beer and smiles at the picture.

Asha Greyjoy leans against the bar next to him, “We invite the old man out for drinks, and he stares at his phone the whole damn night.”

“I was just checking the time,” Jaime says defensively.

“And making _disgusting_ faces at your girlfriend.” Asha knocks back her shot and starts cackling. “Did she give daddy a curfew?

 _“No._ And stop fucking calling me that.”

“Stop having that vibe about you.”

Months later, Jaime _still_ doesn’t know what the fuck that means.

Asha invited him for drinks after class ended. Brienne was on the night shift, so there was no reason to decline. There’s a couple other people from the academy here, too. As usual, Jaime is a decade older than everyone, but he’s used to it. He’s also used to getting heckled about Brienne.

The only person Jaime _doesn’t_ know is Asha’s little brother Theon, who’s presently leaning over his shoulder beside Asha looking at Jaime’s phone.

“Dude,” Theon yells too loudly, “that your girl?”

Jaime almost corrects Theon and says _fiance._ He doesn't want to hear Asha’s snide remark, so he just says, “Yeah.”

“She’s _big,”_ Theon replies, “look at those legs.”

“Her name is Brienne.”

Theon leans a bit closer, "How old is she?"

"...Twenty-five."

"That's why we call him Daddy," Asha starts cackling. "Well, that, and the fact that he's our resident fossil."

Jaime needs more booze to get through this.

Asha passes her brother another shot; Theon knocks it back. “What’s fucking her like?”

“Bro,” Asha says, “First rule of Jaime is don’t ask him about Brienne Tarth; he goes all mushy and won’t shut the fuck up.”

“Fuck off, Asha. It’s new information to me. I’ll repeat the question: what’s fucking her like?”

Jaime can’t tell the type of answer Theon is expecting. He also can’t tell if Brienne is being insulted or complimented. With the gauzy feeling his head is wrapped in from the booze, Jaime’s feeling loquacious.

“It’d blow your _fucking_ mind.”

“I bet,” Theon cackles, “Hey, you let _her_ fuck _you?”_

Asha smacks him in the side of the head. _“Shut up.”_

“What? Look at that pic! Doesn’t that look like how they’d do it?”

Jaime taps the lock screen to see the picture again. _Does it look like that?_ He stares, trying to string the thoughts together, but can’t close the loop.

“I’d _never_ let a woman fuck me!” Theon is _still_ shouting. A few other patrons start looking in their direction, and Asha is trying to cover his mouth. “A _real man_ wouldn’t--”

 _Brienne is perfect._ Every glorious inch of her. Every configuration, every fantasy. If she fucked him--Jaime stumbles on the thought--it would be _outstanding._

“Yeah,” Jaime slams his beer on the counter. “Yeah, asshole, she does. Wanna fight me about it?” He can tackle Brienne to the mat; he can _definitely_ take Theon out over her honor.

“Oh, _gods_ no,” Asha grabs her brother’s arm, “this conversation is _so_ stupid. Please fucking stop.”

“I’m just taking a piss,” Theon slumps onto a bar stool and looks at Jaime, “...You really like it, though?”

There’s a pool table across the bar; a man lines up the cue with the eight ball and scatters the rest across the table. A joke Jaime made to Brienne, months ago about her bending him over the kitchen table pops into his mind. The effect is identical to the force of the pool cue--Jaime’s thoughts scatter and ricochet around in his skull.

“Yeah.” Jaime downs the last of his beer and waves the bartender to bring him another. “Yeah, I do.”

* * *

Sober Jaime is drunken Jaime’s more self-conscious friend. He’s maybe a bit more bombastic or capricious about it, but Jaime’s never done or said anything intoxicated that he regrets or wasn’t true. Of course, in his old life, drunken Jaime was often a ploy to swindle his way somewhere--a person’s bed or their favor. It was _calculated._

Lately, drunken Jaime is mid-priced bottle of Dornish red split with Brienne on their couch. They roast bad television and drink until unfunny things are hysterical, and Brienne laughs so hard she gets the hiccups.

Thankfully, Jaime doesn’t have a hangover the next morning. Nice, but it also means he remembers the conversation with Theon Greyjoy in crystal clarity. _Fuck_ whatever Theon thought of him; the real issue is that Jaime can’t get the idea of Brienne fucking him out of his head.

Brienne comes home from work sometime before eight in the morning and crawls into bed beside him. Jaime stays with her for an hour or so before rising. After a night shift, she’ll sleep until mid-afternoon. Maybe they can go out for a late lunch or happy hour. There’s a list of errands on the markerboard on the fridge--picking up drycleaning, a short grocery list, and Galladon’s special cat food.

As if on cue, the cat swirls Jaime’s legs in a figure eight. Jaime bends down and scratches him behind the ears. “You eat better than we do, little man.”

Galladon’s trilling meow means he agrees.

Jaime runs the errands, going to the grocery store last. When his hand basket is full enough that he regrets not getting a cart, he stops in the family planning aisle and stares for a good, long while. It’s not a sex shop, so he’s not going to find what they’d _really_ need for Brienne to--

 _I shouldn’t be thinking about this in a grocery store._ He made a scene last night; he’s going to make one again.

In the end, Jaime grabs a bottle of lube. It ends up next to a cucumber in his reusable grocery tote, and he chuckles about it all the entire way back home.

* * *

Brienne’s phone says it’s two in the afternoon when she wakes up. Night shifts are something all rookies suffer through, but it wrecks her sleep schedule every time. She’ll be expected to go to bed at a regular time tonight and report for her shift the next morning at eight.

She can do it, but it feels like jet lag without the fun of a vacation.

 _Gods, I could use a vacation._ They’d gone to Tarth for a long weekend, but Brienne wouldn’t say no to another one. It had been a fun trip with Sansa and Margaery, but next time, Brienne wants to go somewhere alone with Jaime.

 _Maybe Dorne--_ lots of fine wines. 

Brienne showers, dresses, and emerges from her bathroom to find Jaime unloading groceries in the kitchen. He always organizes the fridge weirdly, like putting jam and mustard on the same shelf on the door, but love softens those annoyances into fond quirks.

“You ran my errands.”

Jaime turns from the cabinet where she keeps canned goods and smiles, “I even got your uniform and the fancy food for the spoiled prince.”

Galladon is sprawled on his back in the sun right in the center of the kitchen floor. 

“Thanks.” There’s a few items left in the tote, so Brienne starts pulling them out. It’s things she recognizes from her grocery list, a bag of chips she _definitely_ doesn’t, a cucumber, and…

_Lube?_

She starts giggling and covers her mouth with her hand.

“I see you found that combination amusing, too,” Jaime grins and closes the cabinet.

“In a puerile sort of way, yes,” Brienne coughs into her hand and tries to make a straight face. “I...don’t recall any, um, _intimate_ items on my shopping list.”

“There weren’t,” he says, but doesn’t offer up any more information.

“Is there some...innuendo in the combination of items here?”

Jaime’s smile spreads slowly across his features; the honeyed-sweetness of it makes Brienne’s stomach drop. He shrugs and says, “Maybe?”

“That cucumber is for my lunch salads.” _Go practical and maybe you’ll keep the upper hand._ Brienne was _very_ regimented about her meal prep. “Also, this isn’t a porn, you shouldn’t _actually_ use--”

“Brienne,” Jaime starts laughing, too, “people have gotten _really_ inventive over the years. I saw some police reports, you’d be _amazed--_ ”

“I wouldn’t be,” Brienne answers, “because I saw those, too.” 

“I’ve seen things I can’t unsee.”

“Welcome to the job.” 

Lube wasn’t a terribly risque thing to buy, but Brienne’s _certain_ there’s a reason. Jaime’s suggestions were always bound up in some feeling, some _experience_ he’s chasing--a game or a scene. 

“You’re thinking of _something._ I know your routine.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a thought in my _life.”_

“Don’t play coy,” Brienne tries not to sound irritated, but she doesn’t like being confused, especially regarding Jaime. “I mean,” she wrings her hands on the counter, “coy is fine, but clue me in first.”

Jaime steps over Galladon and leans his elbows on the bar. Then, he takes her hands and squeezes them. Brienne leans forward the rest of the way and kisses him; sometimes, he needs a little nudge.

“I went to a bar last night with some people from class.”

Brienne chuckles, “Oh no.”

“Asha brought her brother, Theon.”

“I think I’ve heard Jon complain about him,” she replies, “So?”

“He asked if you fuck me.”

The humor Brienne was feeling evaporates, and she tugs her hands away. She heard remarks like that in the police academy, but they still stung. “I know I’m not the most feminine, but that’s--”

“Yeah, he’s a cunt.” Jaime takes her hands back, “this is why I’m dancing around it.”

“So why even tell me?” 

His cheeks redden, just the slightest, “Because I blurted that you _did..._ and that I loved it.”

Brienne’s face follows suit, and she nearly shrieks, _“Why would you say that?”_

“I was defending your honor.”

“By telling your classmates _t-that?_ Now they’re going to think that I’m--”

“I think we should try it,” Jaime barely puts any space between the words, “I-If you want to.”

For a long moment, Brienne looks at Jaime and tries to tell if he’s serious. He’s fallen totally silent and is still gripping her hands. His piercing, emerald gaze holds hers like a tractor beam, and he hasn’t added a single witty quip to his request.

“A-alright,” she stammers, “but we’re not debasing the poor cucumber for it.”

* * *

Jaime isn’t much of a planner. 

In fact, he spent at least twenty years hopping from one impulsive decision to another. It’s only a stroke of luck that the last one ended up in front of Brienne Tarth. He’d be dead in a dumpster in Flea Bottom without her.

Instead, Jaime has his head on her knee while Brienne makes a series of increasingly concerned faces at her phone screen and takes increasingly bigger gulps of her wine. 

_“Jaime,”_ she puts her glass down on the coffee table, “I want to make you happy.”

“You do,” Jaime grins up at her, _“every_ fucking day.”

“B-but this,” she hesitates, “I--I’m not sure I can--”

“Brienne, it’s just an idea.” One that’s making Jaime’s heart race even in _theory_ but only if it’s doing the same for her. “If you’re not feeling it...”

She shakes her head rapidly, “No, it’s not that. It might be...interesting.”

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Jaime’s grin widens, “What it’ll feel like to be the one doing the fucking. You’re thinking about bending me over the bed, or the kitchen table, and--”

Brienne smacks her hand over his mouth; Jaime takes it as an invitation to wrap his fingers around her wrist and maneuver her hand so he can bite the tip of Brienne’s index finger. She freezes, so Jaime takes her finger into his mouth and swirls his tongue around the digit.

The pulse in her wrist races, so Jaime adds a second finger. Brienne is watching him, pupils wide, with her phone clutched in her other hand. _She loses her shit when I do this._

Honestly, one of Jaime’s favorite pastimes is doing wanton, ridiculous things and seeing how Brienne tries to process them. He’s had two years of practice, and she _still_ gives him that disbelieving look. 

When Jaime’s satisfied with her reaction, he pulls her fingers out of his mouth with a wet pop and bats his eyes at her. “You could finger me first.” He pauses. “Actually, you _definitely_ should, probably for a good while, probably until I _beg._ ”

Brienne’s fingers are wet; it’s easy, _so_ easy, to imagine her spreading him open and--Jaime shivers at the fantasy.

“Jaime,” she sounds breathless, “What do you think I’m reading about?”

“You’re _reading_ about finger fucking me?” He tries not to sound incredulous.

She wipes her fingers on her shorts to dry them. “Not _specifically_ that, but if we’re going to...do _that,_ I thought I should do some research.”

“It can’t be _that_ hard; it’s just fucking.”

Suddenly, Brienne’s phone lands on his chest with a thump. Jaime lets out a yelp of mock pain and picks it up. He reads in silence for a few moments; there’s _so_ much information--before, during, _after._ There’s a second browser tab open with an array of accessories that make a laugh burst from him.

“See?” Brienne scowls down at him.

Jaime laughs harder, “Oh, _gods,_ Brienne--that was--some of that stuff--maybe a little much?” 

“A little, yeah,” she sounds mildly overwhelmed. Nevermind that she throws herself into danger daily and works calmly under stressful conditions.

“Well, some of those items look mildly terrifying, so we can narrow the search down a bit.”

“I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

Brienne’s consideration has just as profound an effect on Jaime as all the dirty talk in the world. Jaime sits up and scoots backward until he can drape himself sideways across her lap. There’s a tiny crease between Brienne’s brows, but her arm around his waist tells him he’s welcome. He loops his arms around her neck and kisses her--first her cheek, then her pursed lips. It takes a second, probably because she’s mired in logistics, but she responds.

When she’s pliant and clinging to him, Jaime whispers into her ear, “Have you _ever_ hurt me?”

“Surely I have,” she murmurs back, “even on accident.”

“That’s life, Brienne.” Jaime scrapes his beard against the underside of her jaw in a way that always makes her shiver. “It’s not about what Asha’s dumbass brother said. I don’t look at you and think ‘yeah, everyone _must_ think she fucks me’ because you’re taller and stronger than me or some bullshit.”

Brienne laughs softly, “That’s a relief.”

“But if they think it,” Jaime continues, “I don’t mind. Everyone already teases me for how much I talk about you.”

“T-they tease me, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she replies, “If that’s the price for being proud of you, I’ll pay it.”

“If you’re so proud of me.” Jaime presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to Brienne’s neck. “Praise goes a long way, but rewards are _very_ effective when used appropriately.”

“That’s from a damned textbook--”

“Here’s something that isn’t, then,” he interrupts, “ _Touch me._ Take me and fuck me and show me I’m yours.”

If Brienne put her hand in his lap, she’d feel his cock straining against the confines of his jeans. Her approval, her confidence, and the myriad ways she expresses it, make Jaime’s blood sing. 

_Anything--she can have anything._

Brienne squeezes him and holds, head tucked against his shoulder, for a long, tense moment. Then, she releases him and says, “Take off your clothes, Jaime.”

* * *

Brienne puts a towel down on the couch and tucks the edges into the cushions.

It’s a nice couch, one of the few things that isn’t from her childhood home on Tarth or a thrift store. She doesn’t want to get the lube, or anything else for that matter, on it. There’s already a spot of pizza grease on the center cushion that spray fabric cleaner didn’t get out. Brienne remembers the sheepish look on Jaime’s face when he dropped a glob of melted cheese.

Jaime leans against the arm; as requested, he isn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. Halfway through his stripping, Brienne pulled her curtains shut.

“My aunt used to do that to her couches,” he says, “...Probably _not_ for this reason.”

She pats the towel nervously, “I had a babysitter who had these plastic covers.”

“...Also probably _not_ for this reason.”

“That’s the least arousing image _ever.”_

He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, “Maybe this will be better.”

Brienne pours herself more wine and puts the lube and a box of tissues on the coffee table. Jaime drapes himself across the cushions on his stomach, rests his chin on his hand, and grins at her.

Jaime looks...he looks a _fucking model._ Brienne just stares at his ass--she can’t _not_. Although, she manages to drag her gaze up the rest of the way over the dip of his lower back and his shoulder blades. His skin is golden and all the more lovely because she knows it inch by inch.

When she gets to his face, Jaime grins wickedly at her, “I _love_ that expression; it’s like you want to devour me.”

 _I do._ Brienne always has. Nothing tempers it--not time, not exposure, not the minutes spent doing some intimidating internet searching. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“You’ll knock me down a peg or three if it does.” Jaime shuts his eyes and sighs. _“Please,_ Brienne.”

She’s vibrating with nerves, but also curious. _It’s good to try something new._ Brienne takes the tube lube off the table and kneels on the floor. Then, she passes Jaime the extra towels.

“Stuff those under you.”

He starts laughing, “Are you gonna dump the whole bottle on me? Apparently, they wrestle like that, naked, in Essos--”

 _“No._ Stuff them under you--the angle.”

“Oh,” Jaime listens, ass in the air, _“Oh._ I get it.”

Jaime, prone, with his face smushed into her couch cushion, is _something._ Brienne opens the lube, squirts some onto her fingers, and rubs them together. Jaime cranes his head as far as he can to watch her movements. When her hand gets closer, Jaime spreads his thighs a bit and smirks.

 _“Eager,”_ she teases.

Jaime takes a deep breath, “For you, always.”

Brienne starts at the cleft of Jaime’s ass and slides downward. He tenses when the pad of her index finger passes over his entrance. Brienne doesn’t push, just rubs her finger in a slow circle. After a moment, Jaime sighs and the tension drains from him. Brienne feels the slightest boost in her confidence; just because she’s never touched Jaime _here_ doesn’t change that she knows _how_ to touch him. 

_Firm, but gentle._ Jaime likes to feel kept, but just the _slightest_. He _also_ likes when Brienne teases him. 

“Maybe I’ll stay here.” Brienne tries to sound like she’s genuinely considering it; it’s hard when Jaime has started to raise off the towels and press against her hand. She doesn’t know if it’s intentional.

 _“Don’t,”_ he raises his head, “you want it, too; don’t pretend you don’t.”

Brienne replies by pushing her fingertip into him. He’s _tight,_ much tighter than anything she’s experienced. Jaime makes a noise that’s practically a hiss and turns his head to face the back of the couch. Concerned, Brienne adds another judicious squirt of lube before entering him further. The lube reduces the friction, and after a moment, she’s able to establish a slow rhythm. 

Jaime tenses again and arches off the pillow. 

_“Relax.”_ Brienne buries her fingers into his golden curls. “It’ll be easier if you do.”

Jaime nods and sags against the towels. “R-Right.”

“Is it bad?”

“...Jury’s still out on that one.”

_Fair enough._

“Can you look at me?”

Jaime turns his head, and Brienne watches his expression as she fucks him slowly with her finger. The tense expression softens. Jaime’s breathing starts to come in soft pants, and he starts pushing back against her and spreading his thighs as wide as the couch allows. The muscle gives way, sooner than Brienne expects, and maybe--

“Jaime.” His eyes flutter open, “Do you want more?”

 _‘Mhm,”_ he nods, “I think so.”

The second finger enters him smoothly, and Brienne pushes deeper than she had with one. The tightness of him around her hand and his labored breathing make her cunt throb with an aching want. Jaime’s expression is one she’s seen a thousand times--needy and open and vulnerable.

But what’s _really_ sending Brienne over the top are the minute motions of Jaime’s hips when she picks up the pace. He’s trying to get more of the contact from her hand and relief for his cock simultaneously, but the position doesn’t allow it. He’ll have to choose, and he _hates_ that because he’s greedy with his pleasure and--

Brienne, well, she wants to give him all of it.

“J-Jaime, raise your hips.”

He heeds her command, as he always does, and goes up on his hands and knees. _I could fuck him like this._ The thought hits Brienne like lightning, and she knows her panties are soaked. If they get to her pleasure in this exchange, Jaime will tease her mercilessly.

For now, Brienne pumps her fingers in time with Jaime’s now _very_ ragged breaths.

“Y-you’re _cruel,”_ he pants, “that towel was my only relief--”

“I’m not,” Brienne doesn’t sound any steadier, “touch yourself.”

Jaime has the audacity _and_ wherewithal to smirk as he reaches down and palms his cock with slow, even strokes. The way his brows draw together and his lips part signal to Brienne the idea was a good one. She rises to better her angle and vantage point.

“F-faster.” When Brienne obeys, Jaime goes down on one elbow to raise his ass higher in the air. “F-fuck,” he stammers, “why does that feel _so_ fucking good? Is it this good when I fuck you with my fingers?”

“I-It’s good,” Brienne whispers, “but your cock is better.”

Brienne curls her fingers inside him, and Jaime’s chuckle becomes a moan halfway through, _“Fucking gods,_ I bet it is, isn’t it?”

* * *

It’s _weird._

Weird pretty quickly morphs to _good._ Then, Brienne goes deeper, and _good_ becomes Jaime seeing stars behind his eyes. It becomes his labored breathing, and the fact that his hips are pushing back against Brienne’s fingers trying to get _more_ of something he isn’t sure there’s more of to get.

It’s a good thing he’s long passed feeling embarrassed with Brienne--she renders him desperate and gasping. They do things together that make him, _well--_

Brienne commands him to stroke himself. When Jaime’s hand comes into contact with his cock, slick from the lube dripping down, he nearly sobs with relief. 

_Generous._ It’s so like her.

But Jaime’s legs are shaking, and he doesn’t want to come by his own hand when Brienne is so near. Falling prone on the couch dislodges Brienne’s fingers; the strange, empty feeling it leaves him with is arousing in it’s own way. 

Then, Jaime turns into his back and smiles at her, “Good thinking with the towels.”

“I know you,” she replies dryly and wipes her hand on the one under his ass. Brienne’s cheeks are flushed, and her hair is coming out of its ponytail. She chews on her lip.

“Can I impose on you one more time?”

“Sure.”

“Fuck me into the couch,” Jaime pauses, realizing the expanded meaning of the words, “...the usual way.”

Brienne laughs as she strips off her clothes and sinks down onto his cock. Jaime, flat on his back except for one of the decorative pillows under his head, sinks his fingers into her hips and admires the view. With one of her knees pressed into the back cushion, there’s just enough room.

Her little gasp, like his cock knocked the wind out of her, is the same every time. Her cunt, wet and hot and clenching around him, starts to drive Jaime’s thoughts from his mind.

“That really worked you up, didn’t it?”

“Y-yeah.” She starts rolling her hips, “What about you?”

“Yeah,” Jaime tickles his fingers up Brienne’s side. “I like your brand of torture, though.”

Brienne rolls her hips and squeezes her legs around him. _Fuck._ Then, she takes both of his hands, laces their fingers together, and gives him an almost brutal pace. 

“Do it, Brienne,” Jaime squeezes her hands and tilts his head back against the pillow, “make yourself come on my cock.”

At the crest of the wave, Jaime pulls his hands from hers and tugs her into a kiss, a slow and delicate contrast to the way she rode him. When Jaime comes, his hips jerk upwards, and his hands dance over the damp skin of Brienne’s back as he holds her close.

“We should go on a date first,” he whispers into her ear once he’s calmed, “Do the thing properly.”

_“What?”_

“Wine me and dine me before you fuck me; it’s only polite.”

* * *

Everything Sansa and Margaery know about Brienne’s sex life comes from Jaime’s lips.

It’s not that Brienne is embarrassed--far from it, actually; it’s just that sex is private to her. She didn’t talk to them about Hyle, either, even though she _really_ wanted to ask if being with someone was supposed to feel mediocre. Margaery, at least, would’ve told her that fucking and going for a beer after her shift ended weren’t supposed to be approached the same way.

Brienne likes that her friends like Jaime. He forgets it, sometimes, but he’s charming and witty and good to her, which makes him easy to like. They never warmed to Hyle, which should’ve been a sign. She can deal with the fact that Jaime and Margaery talk about sex toys and a whole host of topics that make her want to slide under the table.

She gets together with Sansa and Margaery on her next day off to eat lunch at a place that serves sandwiches the size of Brienne’s head. She asked for the sauce on the side and already has half portioned off for lunch tomorrow. The task is _much_ easier than what she’s about to ask about.

...If she can make her mouth form the words.

“So,” she leans her head over the table, “I’m...seeking some advice.”

Margaery leans in, too, “Ooooh, Brienne, you _never_ ask for advice.”

“And you get pissed when we give it unsolicited,” Sansa adds.

 _And you_ love _reminding me._ “Just...you can tease me after, alright?”

They both nod happily.

Brienne takes a deep, steadying breath, “Jaime... _asked_ for something.”

Sansa takes a swig of her beer, “Like a present?”

“Not...exactly.” Grimly, Brienne realizes she’ll have to be much less oblique. “It’s...intimate.”

Margaery gives a knowing grin, “What activity in the bedroom could he _possibly_ have asked for that has Brienne Tarth asking for advice?”

Sansa grins, too, “If she won’t tell us, we could start guessing.”

“If I wasn’t willing to tell you, I wouldn’t have broached the topic.” Brienne lowers her voice and hopes her friends don’t shriek at the back half of what she’s about to say. “Jaime asked me to fuck him.”

Both Sansa and Margaery give her blank, unblinking stares that last for several seconds.

Then, Margaery leans back in the wrought-iron chair and says, equally low, “Like...with a strap-on?” 

Brienne nods solemnly. 

“There’s a word for that,” Sansa adds, “It’s called pegging.”

 _“I know what it’s called.”_ The internet was very illuminating and also very terrifying. Brienne’s cheeks heat up as she recounts the story of Asha and Theon. Both Sansa and Margaery are laughing by the end of it.

“Theon’s been friends with my brother Robb since we were kids,” Sansa shrugs, “He just says shit like that. You gotta let it roll off your back.”

“Well, apparently Jaime took it as a challenge.”

Margaery leans in a close again, “Are you gonna do it?”

Brienne turns even redder, “I--I--yeah, I think I am.”

 _“Really?”_ Sansa starts giggling. “Well, Jaime’s not shy about what you get up to--”

“You need help shopping, don’t you?” Margaery interrupts. “Online or in person?”

Brienne nods helplessly, “Online, please. I don’t think I can walk into a store and buy… _that.”_

They spend the rest of lunch blowing up Brienne’s phone with text messages. 

* * *

For once, Brienne is home before Jaime.

He walks in to find her studying her phone at the kitchen table. She doesn’t look up when he puts his backpack down, nor when he pulls out the chair next to hers at the table. Finally, he leans in close enough that he can look at her phone screen.

Brienne--wonderful, sometimes overly-serious, but the best person he’s ever met--is looking at strap-ons. 

“Oh,” Jaime says, “ _that’s_ what’s got you so entranced.”

“I’m not entranced,” she snaps, “I’m _researching.”_

“Any solid contenders?”

“I--I don’t know,” Brienne sounds like she finds the whole thing quite lamentable. “Margaery and Sansa sent me these.”

“...You asked for advice?”

“It was better than the spiral of web articles I spent an hour reading.” She hesitates. “You’re not...angry, are you?”

Jaime shrugs. He blurted to a near stranger that he liked it when they hadn’t even tried it yet. “Nah. Margaery and Sansa already know more than you might prefer.”

“G-good. I wasn’t trying to--”

A kiss quiets Brienne; she even loses a moment in the distraction. Jaime knows exactly what she’s trying to do and loves her for it all the more.

“So, did you find anything good?”

“I’m not sure what constitutes _good_ in this case.”

“Let me look.”

Brienne puts her phone between them on the table. “...Some of these are just Margaery and Sansa giving me shit.”

“You mean like this….triple-ended thing? What would you even-- _oh.”_

They fall into silence for a few moments.

“This looks...normal. _Functional.”_

Brienne’s tone is the same as when they chose new kitchen utensils, and she kept vetoing the fancy ones that compromised functionality.

“It’s... _small,”_ Jaime should probably shut up, but he doesn’t. _“My_ cock is probably bigger than that thing. Are you trying to insult me? Do you think I can’t take it?”

To Jaime’s surprise, Brienne covers her mouth with her hand, giggling until her eyes start tearing up. “Margaery told me you’d be a size queen about it.”

Brienne’s conservative estimates are usually more accurate to reality than Jaime’s ambitions, but that hasn’t stopped him yet. “Go big or go home; that’s my motto.” 

“You’ve literally _never_ said that.” 

“By two; it’s good to have goals.”

“I think the concept is enough of a goal,” she sounds exasperated.

“A _stretch_ goal, then.” Jaime waits for Brienne to laugh at the innuendo, but she doesn’t. “Get it? Because of--

“It’s not porno, Jaime.”

“It could be, if we film it.”

Brienne buries her face in her hands, “If we’re immortalizing it on film, we should do a dress rehearsal first.”

They won’t film it--not the first time or the second or the tenth, but the fantasy makes Jaime’s heart race. He looks at the image on the screen of Brienne’s phone, thinks of her wearing it, of the way it felt to have her fingers inside of him. He's been winding himself up about it for the last two days.

Honestly, he’d let Brienne truss him upside down from the ceiling if she asked.

“I supposed being cleaved in two isn’t sexy.” Jaime takes Brienne’s hands from her face; she’s blushing quite furiously. “Pick the cock you wanna fuck me with.” 

“O-Okay.”

“It was weird at first,” Jaime lowers his voice and whispers into Brienne’s ear, “but your hands felt _so_ fucking good.”

“Do you...wanna try it again?”

“Now?”

Brienne nods, and Jaime kisses her cheek, “You don’t have to ask twice.”

* * *

They really _do_ go out to mid-priced Bravoosi restaurant they’ve eaten at a dozen times.

It’s a totally normal evening, except Brienne’s mind keeps drifting to the package sitting beside her bed. The nervousness causes her to order a second cocktail and drink two extra glasses of water to offset it. 

Jaime keeps smiling at her across the table and making thinly-veiled, and often lame, suggestive jokes. Eventually, Brienne kicks him under the table and tries to enjoy her the rest of her meal. He quiets, but the long looks he gives her are worse than the jokes.

They walk back to her apartment, hand-in-hand, and Jaime kisses her while they await the elevator.

“I think that satisfied my need to be wined and dined.”

Brienne’s heart is _absolutely_ pounding, “Let it never be said I didn’t woo you first.”

“I’d _absolutely_ come upstairs with you after you kept eye fucking me all through dinner,” Jaime gives her a coy smile and pulls her into the elevator. “Although, I must say I don’t usually wind up on my back after a first date.”

“You like a bit more thrill first.”

“I have to get shot at _at least_ once.” The elevator dings and they step onto her floor. “Then, an exceptionally gallant police officer has to keep me safe.”

“...That doesn’t count as a date, Jaime.” Although Brienne broke enough department policies that day, it might as well have been. 

“Maybe not, but I loved you immediately. Isn’t that more than what most first dates accomplish?”

Even though he’s had a key forever, Jaime waits for her to unlock the door. Brienne grabs his elbow and pulls him inside. As soon as the door latches, Jaime presses Brienne against it and starts kissing her. 

Immediately, Galladon starts swirling between their legs wailing for dinner; it’s not the first interlude he’s crashed.

“I’ll feed him,” Brienne says, “unless you want him serenading us the entire time.”

“Not exactly mood music,” Jaime says, “You know where to find me.”

Brienne swallows a lump in her throat. _I certainly do._ Once Galladon is inhaling his food, she gets herself the biggest glass of water she can find.

When she gets to their bedroom, Jaime is reclined on the bed, head resting on his bent arm, and naked as his nameday.

She takes a drink of the water, “Quite...forward of you.” 

“You know why I’m here.”

“Because you live here?”

“Why be sexy when you can be dour.” Jaime flops on his back, “I half expected the bed to be covered in plastic wrap.”

“I’m not _that_ fastidious,” Brienne puts her free hand on her hip, “and there’s a mattress cover.”

 _“Fuck,_ Brienne, that’s the hottest thing you’ve said all night.”

* * *

Jaime has watched Brienne undress hundreds of times.

Many of these are non-sexual. He’s memorized that she always takes off her pants first and that she pulls the straps of her bra down before reaching to unhook it. Neither are inherently arousing, but she does them without thinking, without embarrassment, and Jaime loves that they’re close enough that she does.

Jaime catches her eye in the mirror of her dresser as she unbuttons the blouse she wore to dinner. He waggles his fingers at her like he expects her to be surprised that he’s naked on their bed and waiting for her. 

He strokes his half-hard cock; Brienne looks away abruptly.

Brienne turns from the mirror, still wearing navy blue panties and the tanktop from under her blouse. She likes feminine things--soaps and flowers and drinks--but everything she wears is utilitarian. Jaime had never tried to persuade her into anything girlier. 

Even the strap-on and harness she chose is function over aesthetic. It’s fine--Jaime doesn’t need to be fucked with a glittery pink dildo. He hasn’t even seen it since it arrived in the mail the day before. When she sits, the now-familiar bottle of lube is clasped in her hand, and the expression on her face is all business. 

Jaime grins again, “How do you want me?”

“Um,” Brienne hesitates, “On the edge of the bed, feet up.”

There’s no _please_ , but Brienne never truly commands him; the request is always implicit. Jaime is glad to obey because she’s always such a good sport about playing along. He moves to the edge, spreading his thighs and resting his feet on the comforter.

Brienne watches him the entire time. “I-Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I feel a little...exposed, I guess.”

She leans over him and kisses his forehead, “I know.”

 _Of course._ Jaime takes a deep breath. _How many times have I fucked her like this?_ He loves looking at her; the trust laid out before him. _To be in her place, to feel what she feels--_

A warm, slick finger derails his thoughts.

Brienne is already searching his expression for any sign of unease. She rubs against his entrance in the slowest circular motion imaginable. 

“T-That-- _ah--”_ She pushes just the slightest bit. “--that’s _really_ maddening, you know?”

“I know.”

All the times Jaime teased her until she was needy and whimpering--nipped at the inside of her thighs, circled her clit with his tongue like water going down a drain-- _this_ is his comeuppance. Brienne pulls away from him to slide her hand from the base to the head of his cock.

...Just once, of course.

“You’re supposed to be _prepping,_ not teasing.”

“I’m being thorough.”

Jaime can’t argue, so he relaxes against the bed and closes his eyes. The third time is even less weird than the second; it almost seems like Brienne’s fingers slide into him easier than before. She’s as considerate as ever. Even though his eyes are closed, Jaime is certain she’s watching him closely. He must be _quite_ a sight with his head thrown back, wriggling against Brienne’s hand. Just like the first time when he kept backing up against her hand, _seeking--_

“T-two?” she asks after a moment.

Jaime nods.

She adds a second finger and lets him acclimate to the pressure of it. If Jaime thought he looked wanton a moment ago, when Brienne starts earnestly fucking him, he arches off the bed and starts babbling curses at her. He lets his legs fall open wider, hoping it will invite Brienne to add a third finger.

 _I can handle three. Or four._ Right now, Jaime thinks he could handle _anything._ He's high on the fact that his entire body is on fire, and all the blood his brain needs to think has been redirected to this aching, _aching_ cock. He anchors his hands in the comforter. 

“M-more,” he gasps, “ _All of it.”_

Brienne will have the good sense to know that Jaime’s eyes are _always_ bigger than his stomach. 

There’s a touch on his cheek, and Jaime opens his eyes to find Brienne’s calm, water-blue ones looking down at him. The sight of him affects her--the flush under the sea of freckles on her cheeks and the way she’s breathing fast. Jaime didn’t notice it happen, but Brienne’s kneeling on the bed, and all movement of her hand has stopped. The fullness without the motion feels good in it’s own way. 

Brienne kisses him. “Do you want three?”

“Yeah, but after that--”

She turns a bit pinker, “Don’t worry; I’ll fuck you.”

* * *

Jaime, prone on the bed, is _quite_ a sight. His cock is slick with lube from where she stroked it and, even though Brienne is no longer touching him, he still has a fistful of comforter in one hand. It’s a cross-section of their relationship, one where Jaime looks vulnerable and flushed with pleasure. Brienne’s a bit glad he closed his eyes again so she can stare openly without him teasing or pandering to her. 

If she were the one on the bed, Jaime would tell her all the filthy things the sight of her was making him think. Brienne can’t do that--she can only gawk and try and ignore the ache between her thighs and her dry mouth.

The water was a good idea; Brienne takes a big gulp.

The amount of research Brienne did was probably overkill given the ease with which Jaime got on his hands and knees for her. It’s like him, to want something and not overthink it. 

It’s like Brienne to do the opposite. 

She chose the most practical dildo and harness she could find; in fact, Jaime laughed for a solid minute at her choice. _It looks like underwear._ She scowled and told him it would fuck him as well as any other. Brienne didn’t say, even _after_ her conversation with Sansa and Margaery, how many product reviews she read. 

Brienne trades her own panties for it, sliding the dildo through the opening. The weight is as unfamiliar as when she’d tried it on in the bathroom when Jaime was in class. Despite having it derisively yelled at her more than once, she’s never given much thought to what it would be like to have a cock.

Brienne coats it with a judicious amount of lube and tosses the tube on the bed.

“J-Jaime.”

His eyes flutter open, unfocused for a second, but then they land on the obvious destination. She sees Jaime’s throat bob as he swallows.

_“Oh.”_

A wave of self-consciousness gnaws at her; one of her asshole classmates at the police academy saying _a cock would suit you better._ “D-don’t say a _word.”_

Jaime pushes himself up on his elbows, opens his mouth, then closes it.

“F-fine,” she blurts, “go on.”

“Brienne, I was just going to beg you to come here.”

Relief washes over Brienne. _Jaime would never say anything like that._ She’s almost ashamed to think of it. She kneels beside Jaime on the bed and leans down to kiss him. Jaime runs his tongue against her lips and slides his fingers into her hair beneath the tie holding her ponytail. 

“Jaime,” she whispers between kisses, “just d-don’t say it suits me, okay?”

He hums against her lips, then kisses his way to her ear. “You know I _always_ want you, right?”

The simple declaration of Jaime’s desire soothes her. “Have you thought about how you want to do this?”

“Any suggestions?” There’s a bit of teasing in his tone.

“Um, I think anything we usually do will work.” 

Jaime scrapes his beard against her jaw. “Let me be on top.”

Unexpectedly, _that_ concept makes Brienne’s stomach drop in the best way possible. It’s so enticing that it has Brenne scrabbling to the headboard of their bed. Jaime crawls after her, grabs the tube of lube, and positions himself astride her legs. Brienne grabs his hips and pulls her to him, just as he’s done to her an uncountable number of times. 

Jaime grins the entire way.

“I should’ve guessed you’d choose this.” Brienne reaches between them and gives Jaime’s cock a stroke. “How many times have you climbed into my lap?”

“You like it when I fuck you like this; I wanna see why.”

Brienne guides Jaime with a hand on his hip while he grabs the dildo and lines it up. It’s a bit clumsy, but Jaime gives a shuddering sigh as he rubs against the head of it. She takes her hand from Jaime’s cock and guides him, too. 

There’s barely any penetration at first. Brienne switches her hands back to Jaime’s hips, afraid he’s going to slide down and take too much too fast. His eyes are locked with hers, and his lips are parted slightly. 

“G-go slow,” Brienne tightens her grip, “You decide how much.”

Jaime nods; when he takes it deeper, his brow furrows in concentration. “More lube, I think?”

For Jaime’s comfort, they can _swim_ in the shit--her mattress be damned. Brienne squirts more on her hand and coats the rest of the length that isn’t inside him yet. Then, she reaches behind him and runs her fingers over where the cock is stretching him open. Jaime groans, and he almost sounds frustrated.

“Try now.”

The pace is incremental. Brienne can’t feel it, so she watches Jaime’s expression and holds completely still. She tries not to grab his hips too tightly. At the last bit, when Jaime’s skin is pressed against hers, he lets out a tiny gasp like the wind has been knocked out of him. 

It’s the exact same reaction Brienne always has; she sees the exact moment Jaime realizes it.

_“Fuck.”_

“Y-yeah. Are you okay?”

“Brienne,” Jaime huffs, and it’s entirely haughty. “I can take a cock in the ass.”

 _“Excuse me_ for being considerate.”

“Consideration is sexy.”

Jaime moves, and Brienne isn’t surprised that he tries to rise up and sink back down completely. She also isn’t surprised that he’s uncoordinated and groans, half in pleasure and half in frustration. Brienne remembers being in the same position and struggling to find a rhythm. 

“Hey,” she gathers Jaime close and rests her hands on his sweat-damp back. They're covered in lube, but she supposes everything is at this point. “Small movements."

"R-Right."

The next attempt is a rocking with a much narrower range of motion. After a few repetitions, Jaime seems to settle on the pace. He whimpers into her neck at the peak of each movement, and his grip on her biceps is near painful. When he puts enough distance between them to bring their mouths together in a messy kiss, Brienne returns her hands to his hips. She glances down, and notices her tank top is a mess from where Jaime’s cock was trapped between them.

“Brienne,” Jaime gasps her name and slides his hands under the fabric, “take this fucking thing off.”

She sits up from the pillows enough to unclasp her bra as Jaime pushes the tank top up. He throws them across the room and brings his mouth close to hers again.

 _“Better._ Have I been neglecting you?”

“N-no.” She’ll never be as good with words as Jaime is. “I like watching you.”

“If you like watching, I’ll try and give you something worth seeing.”

Jaime sits back on her lap and gives a shudder that wracks his entire body. _Deeper._ The reaction is so visceral that it transfers to Brienne. He tosses his head back and exposes the line of his throat. 

And Brienne just _stares._

She _always_ watches Jaime--while he reads a book or cooks wearing her sunflower apron, wondering how someone like him crashed into her bed and then into her heart. This is _more--_ her eyes wander to his cock, slick from where she touched him. All the times she dragged him to the gym and busted his ass paid off; Jaime looks like a golden god.

She wants to _wreck_ him, reduce him to a whimpering mess, then catch the pieces and put him back together. At his most vulnerable, Brienne wants Jaime to fall safely into her arms. The impact of their hips crashing together reverberates through her. Emboldened, she shifts her grip to Jaime’s ass as he grinds into her over and over.

“You look--” 

Brienne doesn’t realize she’s spoken. Her voice breaks Jaime’s concentration; his movements slow, and he leans over her. He cups her breasts and swipes his thumbs over her nipples. Then, it’s Brienne’s turn to whimper and arch off the bed.

“Tell me.”

_I can never deny him anything._

“Beautiful.”

* * *

Brienne’s earnest compliment makes Jaime sheepish, and the only way to compensate is to tease her.

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” 

“N-no, but--”

“Not well-fucked?”

This time, Jaime rolls Brienne’s nipples between his thumb and index fingers, pinching slightly. She emits the most _delightful_ whine and rises off the bed. The result is pressing further into _him,_ and Jaime sees stars behind his eyes once more. He repeats the gesture with identical results.

“J-Jaime--”

Suddenly, Jaime is ready for the glorious, _blinding_ release this is going to give him. His legs are starting to fall asleep from being folded under him. He raises himself up a bit and hopes Brienne will help.

“Brienne, I don’t think I can come from just--”

Jaime wanted to ride her until he came without being touched. Brienne would sigh and tell him it was unrealistic. She nods, and her upward thrusts are as uncoordinated as Jaime’s had been, but she takes his cock in her strong hand and tumbles Jaime over the edge in moments. The combination of the new feeling of fullness and the familiarity of her hand are too intense to bear.

Mortified, he comes _on_ Brienne. Thankfully, it doesn’t hit her in the face. _Has that really never happened before?_

 _“Oh--_ Sorry--”

Brienne, to his _great_ surprise, starts laughing. “Jaime, where did you think it was going to go?”

“...Good point.”

“It hardly matters.” Brienne looks to the left, so Jaime looks, too; there’s a handprint on the sheets.

“We’re _messy,”_ Jaime grins, “Let me clean up.”

It would be unchivalrous to leave Brienne unsatisfied. There’s the odd, vacant feeling when he climbs off Brienne; he’s also _certain_ he’s going to be sore. He gives Brienne a peck on the lips, then kisses his way down her torso, stopping to lick himself off of her. 

Brienne’s breath hitches, and Jaime grins against the slight swell of her breast. When he nips at her skin, she tangles her fingers in his golden curls. _She likes this, too._ Brienne is never aggressive, but there’s all these minute reactions that show what she doesn’t say.

Near Brienne’s navel, Jaime glances up. The view is good--all that toned, freckled skin, so close. She’s chewing on her lip again. 

“Tell me. How’d I do?”

“G-good, Jaime, you did really good.”

“Enough for a repeat performance, I hope.”

As Jaime pulls the harness down over Brienne’s hips, his mind scatters to other applications for it. Maybe Brienne would like to see him on his knees; it’s another thought for another day. He drops it onto the floor, and Brienne tuts her disapproval.

“What?”

“...It’s going to be _covered_ with cat hair now.”

Not to be distracted by Brienne’s practicality in the face of an impending orgasm, Jaime takes her leg and hoists it over his shoulder. “Then I’ll wash it.”

“Fine.”

Despite her protests, Brienne moves her other leg on her own. “Is there something you want? Something you’d like to _ask_ for?”

_“Put your mouth to better use.”_

_“Gods,_ I love it when you talk like that.”

Pleasuring Brienne is down to a _science._ Jaime is feeling magnanimous after all her efforts, so he won’t even tease her first. Her cunt is _dripping,_ which means she liked fucking him as much as Jaime liked being fucked. He won’t tease her about that, either.

...Well, maybe later.

Instead, he slides two fingers into her and moves his tongue against her clit with fast, short strokes. In no time, her cunt is fluttering around his fingers and her thighs are shaking where they’re braced over his shoulders.

When Brienne comes, it’s with a long, drawn out moan and her fingers in his hair. Jaime almost likes the _after_ better--when he keeps going until she sags on the bed, boneless and spent.

Grinning, Jaime crawls between her legs and rests his chin on her stomach.

“So, who’s carrying who to the shower?”

* * *

Jaime melodramatically demands to be carried, but Brienne refuses. She goes to the bathroom and turns on the water, but when she returns, Jaime is still flopped on the bed.

“That’s what _started_ this whole thing,” he protests, “It’ll be like we’ve come full circle!”

“I only did it then to see if I could.”

“And you _can,_ so you should.”

In the end, Brienne sits on the edge of the bed and lets Jaime wrap himself around her like an octopus. He’s not too heavy, but he’s _tall,_ so navigating through the door between the bedroom and the bathroom results in Jaime whanging his knee into the door frame.

“You’ve delivered me mostly in one piece.”

“I _will_ drop you.”

They make it to the bathmat, where Brienne lets Jaime down and opens the frosted glass door. Steam pours out of the shower, and Jaime grins.

“Are you trying to _cook_ me?”

Brienne sighs, “Just get in.”

There’s a lot to complain about regarding her apartment--the ancient range, the window that sticks when she tries to open it--but the shower is big enough that two people can sit under the stream of water, and _that_ is lovely.

Jaime winces as he lowers himself to sit against the tile wall, knees bent. He doesn’t say anything, so Brienne sits beside him. They’ll need soap, but it can wait a few moments.

“Are you alright?”

He crosses his arms on his knees and rests his chin there. “My knees are protesting a bit, but I’m _old.”_

“A-and you…?”

“It’s sweet of you to ask after my ass.”

“See if I do _ever_ again--”

“Brienne,” Jaime interrupts, “A little tender, but I’ll live.”

“Good.”

“You were right, though, about the size. That was….enough.”

Brienne tries not to sound smug, “What happened to your stretch goals?”

“Too lofty,” he replies, “You protected me from my hubris.”

They fall silent for a moment; Brienne remembers all the reading she did about the potential emotional ramifications. Jaime is still giving her that blinding smile, but sometimes he uses it to hide how he feels.

“And you’re feeling alright...emotionally?”

“Are you expecting me to have some crisis of masculinity? It _was_ _my_ idea.”

“Not like that.” Brienne tries to think of a way to explain. “The first time I slept with Hyle...” Jaime wrinkles his nose in distaste. “...I didn’t tell him that I was a virgin.”

 _“Why_ would you omit that?”

“Because I didn’t want to make a _thing_ of it,” she answers. “A-Anyway, it wasn’t bad, but afterwards I half-expected him to give me a high-five or a fist bump. He treated me like one of his cop buddies. It was his way of respecting me.”

“What a _cunt.”_

“I laid there while he slept and felt _lonely_ and vulnerable. I didn’t like it, but I didn’t know I shouldn’t feel it. I should’ve told him, but he could’ve asked.”

“It probably didn’t occur to him because he’s a _dick.”_

Jaime’s persistent hatred of Hyle makes Brienne laugh. She’s trying to keep a straight face when she asks, “That was something new, so--anyway, asking is _important._ Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” He moves to rest his head on Brienne’s shoulder; it means he gets sprayed in the face with water. “You’re always so _good_ and considerate. I’m never worried.”

“You’re the same.” Brienne’s heart aches a bit over how much she loves him. Jaime nearly drowns her in affection, but she doesn’t tire of it.

“Good, because you shouldn’t feel like that, either.” He sits up and kisses her. “Hey, wash my back.”

Brienne sighs, but she’s already reaching for the body wash.

After, when they’re clean and dry and dressed, Brienne stands in the bedroom door with her hands on her hips. There’s clothes _everywhere,_ the sheets are a mess, and the bottle of lube is half under the bed.

“We wrecked it a bit,” Jaime says, “Fun, though.”

She strips the bed, thankful for the mattress protector, and Jaime gathers things off the floor and throws them into the laundry hamper.

When Jaime gets to the box the strap-on and harness shipped in, he picks it up and rifles through the packaging. Brienne watches him as she puts a new pillowcase on one of the pillows.

“Hey,” he holds something up--it’s a blindfold, dark blue and silky. “You didn’t tell me about this.”

Brienne blushes, “It was a free gift.”

Jaime stares at it for a second, then smirks. “Maybe we should save it for our honeymoon?”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know in the comments if I nailed it (heh heh).
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @kurikaesu-haru.


End file.
